


the date doctor

by practicallywritesitself



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M, Modern Era, Multi, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, david is not as innocent as he seems, finch & crutchie are DUMB and IN LOVE, girlsie!jojo, have fun my guys, jack is not as dumb as he looks, just really love early 2000s movies, katherine is not as successful as she deserves to be, ok that’s what you can expect, race and spot are new fathers. you can guess how well that’s going, that hitch fic absolutely no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-06-30 19:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/practicallywritesitself/pseuds/practicallywritesitself
Summary: Jack Kelly is the world’s most successful love consultant. Katherine Plumber doesn’t know the first thing about love.Their targets? The estranged Jacobs Siblings — one the star reporter of New York’s hottest tabloid, the other a reality TV celebrity having trouble being taken seriously.Love is complicated; these four are learning it the hard way.Drama, hilarity, and a salad fight ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so javid is, like, my brand, i guess. 
> 
> this whole thing is based (see: loosely) on the movie hitch starring will smith & eva mendes. y’all should go watch if not for the sole reason that it is fantastic. 
> 
> anyway, this is basically just exposition and background. sorry bout that. 
> 
> leave kudos & comments!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we meet our date doctor.

 Jack Kelly was thriving.

No one had really expected him to amount to much. Sure, his family and friends all knew he would get by, somehow — he was smart, and beyond clever— but Jack was the type of boy to coast through life, not excelling at anything in particular. He had his talents, but they weren’t exactly profitable, and it would be something near Armageddon the day the Jack Kelly, dreamer extraordinaire, took a desk job in one of the hundreds of small accounting firms stretching across New York City.

But, against all odds, Jack had excelled. Certainly not in school — in fact, he barely scraped through college with a passing grade. He had majored in sociology, a decision only made due to pressure from his mother and the promise of seeing the cute boy dorming across the hall in his PolySci classes. He ended up enjoying his major; it wasn’t graphic design or American history, but it was lucrative. Still, Jack spent little time on his academics; no, he had more important things to do — most notably, attending every frat party he could get to and hooking up with as many people as possible.

Jack didn’t realize exactly how screwed he was until after college. Social work was a competitive field, and though Jack did graduate, finding a job was harder than he expected. He had participated in zero internships during school, and attended only one clinic (it was required to get his degree). So Jack was home, living with his slowly aging mother and lovable-yet-annoying little sister for nearly four years before he entered the flourishing and remunerative world of matchmaking.

Jack always knew he was a romantic — he was suave and dashing and commercially attractive. He appealed to both sexes; in high school and beyond, it was rare he went without a boyfriend or girlfriend by his side.

What he didn’t realize was that he had a veritable knack for setting people up.

It started small — in fact, it started right next door. Literally. Charlie Morris resided in the next room over for ten years — he was Jack’s best friend, confidante, and foster brother. He was also hopeless at finding love. His soulmate — if such a thing existed — had been living merely three floors beneath them since high school, and one day Jack was so sick of Crutchie lying around moping all day and Finch’s incessant pining that Jack had mentioned to Crutchie that they would make a good couple and — well, the rest was history.

It grew from there. Setting up his fellow barista with a customer, giving his friends dating advice, providing that little push and vote of confidence to the people around him. It wasn’t until someone had suggested he pursue it as a career that he even realized he had been doing it so successfully.

And so he followed their advice. Jack set up shop, beginning with a tiny desk and eight year old MacBook in the corner of his room and progressing until he was living in the penthouse suite of The Lodging House, Lower Manhattan’s finest apartment complex with no one but his rambunctious Xolo Alger to distract him from his work.

So, yes, Jack Kelly was thriving. He was doing far better than his brothers or any of his friends were — save for maybe Specs, who everyone had expected would go on to do great things — although, admittedly, no one had guessed he’d become the youngest astronomer to discover and name a new planet.

But despite all this, despite the lavish apartment and the adorable dog, despite the lack of stress and freedom of scheduling, despite the fact that Jack was constantly reassuring everyone that he was happy as a clam, Jack was missing one crucial thing.

His own love story.

It was as ironic as it was cliché — Jack, who made a living off of getting people together, couldn’t find someone to share his own life with. And it wasn’t that he didn’t care or wasn’t trying hard enough, he simply wasn’t interested in anyone who came his way.

Maybe that would change, maybe it wouldn’t. Jack Kelly convinced himself he didn’t care one way or the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, yes, this chapter was /slow/, i know. i think i’ve got a kink for exposition. 
> 
> it’ll speed up next chapt!! please leave kudos and comments (i live for that shit)
> 
> hope u enjoyed!! 
> 
> (also pls go like & rb the post for this on @practicallywritesitself on tumblr thnx)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jack falls in love fast. davey will have none of his shit. spot’s a good dad i swear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: OH MY GOD I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO TAG THIS CHAPTER. i very much hope no one got upset over this yet and i apologize profusely for being such a dumb ass. tw for this chapter having very minor mentions of alcohol and intoxication. again i’m so sorry y’all omg

 Jack watched as the ball rolled, rolled, rolled — and missed the pot.

“Damn it,” he muttered, shaking out his shoulders as Spot laughed next to him.

“You’re not even making this hard,” Spot complained, lining up and making his shot. Of course, he sank it perfectly, leaving only the eight ball and half a dozen of Jack’s striped ones.  

Jack groaned, resting his chin on the cue and consequently dusting it with blue. He wrinkled his nose and brushed it off quickly as he watched Spot win the game.

“Double or nothing?” Spot asked, taking a swig of beer and looking far too smug.

“We said that last game.”

“And you still have nothing.”

Jack snorted, turning to lean against the pool table and survey the ever growing crowd in the bar. He crossed his arms, already getting lost in his thoughts. He was always on the lookout for new clients — the bar scene was the perfect place. He was narrowing down a few potentials when Spot knocked his shoulder.

“Hey, this isn’t work time,” he insisted. “You’re out with me, your brother — your newly _fathered_ brother — to have fun. No searching for lovestruck saps tonight.”

Jack shuffled. “I wasn’t.”

“Oh please.” Spot picked up Jack’s drink and handed it to him. “So, talk to me. Tell me about your life. Ask me about mine.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You’re dying to talk about it, aren’t you?”

Spot grinned. “You know me too well.” He put down his own bottle and began listing on his fingers. “Let’s see. Updates. Alice got a fever the other day. Race freaked. I was all, _honey, it’s no big deal, probably just a little cold_. But Race’s all like, _no, no, better play it safe and call in every fucking doctor from here to Montauk_. So, whatever, I play along, right? And guess what every single doctor says. She’s fine, just a minor infection from the weather. And yeah, I guess in hindsight Race was right to call it in, but come on…”

Jack zoned out. He did love hearing about his niece, truly, but Spot _did_ tend to ramble when it came to his husband and daughter.

And someone had just walked in that Jack couldn’t take his eyes off of.

The man wore a sharp suit — far too dressy for a dive on East 117th. He moved with a confidence that Jack couldn’t pin down — not arrogance, per se, but the sort of swagger that came with being sure that he could outsmart any of the slugs moving around him. He stood proud and tall, and not a hint of apprehension or hesitation crossed his features as he reached the bar. He sat on the stool cautiously, however, gazing around the room.

His eyes — so startlingly blue that Jack could see the color from halfway across the room — landed on Jack’s for a moment, and the latter grinned his most debonair smile before another man walked up and tapped Blue Eyes on the shoulder.  

At the same time, Spot elbowed Jack’s side. “Don’t wanna listen to my stories but have plenty of time to make goo-goo eyes at the majordomo drinking a Cosmopolitan,” he grumbled around his bottle.

Jack didn’t stop watching Blue Eyes. The man who had approached him was clearly drunk, and so loud that Jack could make out nearly all of his slurred words. Blue Eyes seemed to be playing along, but he was also tapping his feet and averting his eyes. Jack wasn’t going to risk letting this man get hurt.

Jack pushed himself off the pool table, setting down his drink and striding towards the bar. He heard Spot sigh behind him — “Guess it’s not his night off after all,” — as he came up behind the drunk guy and slapped a hand on his shoulder.

Drunk Guy turned around, looking confused and definitely annoyed. Jack ignored him, choosing instead to smile sweetly at Blue Eyes.

“Sorry I’m late, babe,” he said, trying to communicate that, no, he wasn’t a creepy stalker, just trying to help. Blue Eyes opened his mouth to say something, clearly not catching on, but Jack cut him off. “Traffic’s hell in New York City, right?” He shot Blue Eyes one more look before turning to Drunk Guy. “And who’s your friend?” He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” Jack nodded towards Blue Eyes. “I’m his boyfriend.”

Drunk Guy took a step back, not returning the handshake. “Oh, I — just...waiting on my drink.” He gulped, turning to Blue Eyes. “You can have it. I already paid.” And with that, he hobbled away.  

Jack whistled as he watched him go. “That was...easier than I thought.” He turned to Blue Eyes with another dazzling smile, expecting...he didn’t know. A swoon? A grateful peck on the cheek? At least a thank you, right?

Wrong. Jack had never understood when steam came out of people’s ears in the cartoons, but he did now.

“I didn’t need your help.”

Blue Eyes’s voice was deeper than Jack had expected, and it took him aback. He stood, mouth slightly ajar, waiting for something else. It didn’t come.

Blue Eyes huffed, turning back to face the drink that had just been set in front of him. He swirled his finger in it — Jack noticed his nails were painted a bright pink, which didn’t exactly compliment the deep black of his suit.  

Jack sat, shaking his head slightly. “A thousand apologies. Just don’t like watching nice looking boys getting attacked and doing nothing about it.”

Blue Eyes raised and eyebrow, meeting Jack’s eyes again. “I’m not a boy, Hamlet. I can handle myself.”

Jack scoffed at the allusion. “Would’ve thought you were a bit more creative with your references.” There. The corners of Blue Eyes’s mouth turned up ever so slightly, enough to make Jack’s whole face light up. “So what’s your name? Surely it’s not Horatio. That’d just be too perfect.”

Another half-smile. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a Shakespeare scholar.”

“Knowing two of his most famous characters doesn’t exactly qualify me as a scholar.”

Blue Eyes shrugged. “More than I can say for half the guys in this room.” He turned on his stool, so that he was fully facing Jack. He kept one finger in his drink and held out his other hand. “David Jacobs.”

Jack took his hand. “Jack Kelly.”

They kept that way for five seconds, ten seconds — far too long for a normal handshake. Jack could have sat there for hours, but David broke it off, clearing his throat and blushing slightly.

He took a sip of his drink to clear his flush and then turned back to Jack. “So, Mister I’m-No-Scholar, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a freelance consultant in the private sector.” The answer rolled off his tongue the same way it had for the past five years. Not a lie, and not the whole truth. His business wasn’t illegal, but it wasn’t exactly something you go about shouting from the rooftops.

David nodded, accepting the answer. Jack felt a weight lift off his shoulders. “What about you?” he asked.

“Reporter,” David replied, and though Jack wasn’t sure he knew it, his demeanor completely changed. His smile broadened, his eyebrows lifted, and his foot stopped its incessant tapping. It was the face of a man who loved his job, and Jack decided he could never get tired of looking at that face.

David cocked his head, noticing Jack’s look. Jack turned away quickly, embarrassed to admit to the red blossoming across his cheeks. Pull yourself together, Kelly.

He caught Spot in the corner of his eye, who was sipping his beer and wiggling his eyebrows. Jack made a face, and swiveled back to David.  

“Well, Horatio,” he said, taking great pride when David bit his lip to hide a smirk, “I’d better be getting back to my brother over there. Between you and me, I think he’d rather be back home snuggling with his newborn than out with me.”

David laughed brightly. “Between you and me, I think I’d rather be home, too.”

“Sure I can trust you here alone with all these creeps?” Jack joked.  

“Mhm. Told you, Hamlet, I’ve handled worse than a couple drunk guys.”

Jack chuckled. He stood, again putting out his hand. “Till we meet again.”

David raised an eyebrow, but he couldn’t hide the smile pulling at his lips as he took Jack’s hand. “Parting is such sweet sorrow.” 

“That’s Romeo and Juliet.”

“Just testing you.”

They released hands, and Jack turned on his heel, nearly bouncing as he made his way back to Spot.  

“Well, well, looks like Jack Kelly’s still got some charm after all,” Spot teased.

Jack pushed him slightly, muttering a low “Oh, come off it,” as he took his jacket from Spot’s hands and shrugged it on.

As they walked out of the bar, Jack stole one last look over his shoulder.

He was pleased to find David watching him as he walked out, and even more so when he turned away to hide his blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im trying to get a proper posting schedule going and it’s just not working out for me. i was thinking like every saturday/sunday?? idk we’ll just have to see i guess. 
> 
> also this is SO out of character because i haven’t watched the source material in like months im truly living my best life right
> 
> anyway i was gonna hold off on posting this chapter a while but my brain was like “post. now.” so i mean u gotta do what u gotta do right
> 
> in conclusion: please leave kudos/comment and if you feel like it go rb the post for this on @practicallywritesitself on tumblr. thank you!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we meet david’s best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> light tw for mentions of alcohol!!
> 
> so the story is gonna switch perspectives every two chapters. first two were jack, next two are davey, etc. just a heads up. 
> 
> also this chapt features a certain girlsie and i very much hope you all approve

David chewed on his lip, trying to keep a smile from breaking out over his face.

David was hardly a romantic. He hadn’t had a serious partner since college, and even that escapade was half-hearted. David had been too concentrated on earning his degree to put in the proper amount of effort, something that his boyfriend had thrown in his face when they broke it off. David had no qualms with that accusation. He had never had time for a beau, and now was no exception.

But maybe he’d never given himself a chance to fantasize. To find an attractive guy and imagine what life would be like if he allowed himself to push down his walls, to let someone into his life and not worry about them lying or leaving him.

He was thinking like Sarah. Which was ironic, because she was the one who made him the way he was in the first place.

David was thrust out of his thoughts by a loud huff, the sound of keys hitting the bar, and an order for something called a French Seventy-Five. David smiled to himself before he looked up at the woman who had plopped down on the stool next to him.

Jojo De La Guerra had been David’s best friend for nearly fifteen years. From the moment she had seen him eating lunch alone on the bleachers and wriggled her way into his life, David had known that Jojo would be there for him always -- and it had proven true. She was his prom date, the first person he came out to, and the one he called at two in the morning when he couldn’t sleep. In turn, David had done everything he could for Jojo. He liked to think of himself as her guardian angel -- it sounded better than “therapist” or “jail warden”.

“Jorgelina Josephina, you are nearly twenty minutes late,” David commented, checking his watch dramatically.

Jojo gave him a look that could have stopped armies in their tracks. “After all this time, you  _ still _ refuse to respect my very reasonable request to never use that name.”

David shrugged, grinning. “It’s my God-given right as your closest and most cherished friend.”

Jojo sighed histrionically, but she couldn’t hide her smirk. “Yeah, yeah.” She accepted the flute the bartender set in front of her with one of her signature dazzling smiles. “If you must know, I met a man.”

David resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If David was the epitome of stoicism, Jojo was his opposite; she was the biggest flirt he had ever met.

“Who was it this time?” David asked, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of the words and taking a sip of his own drink.

If Jojo noticed his tone, she didn’t acknowledge it. “Morris Delancey,” she said, eyes slightly glassy and cheeks heating up. “I met him in Victoria Secret,” she explained. 

David nearly spat out his gulp of triple sec and cranberry juice. “What in the  _ hell  _ was he doing in Victoria Secret? You know, assuming he’s straight?”

Jojo crossed her arms defensively. “He is! He said he was buying his mother a gift for her birthday. Isn’t that thoughtful?”

David breathed out through his nose, lips pursed as he shook his head. “Jojo. No man buys his mother lingerie.”

Jojo cocked her head, frowning slightly. “I don't follow.”

“He’s in a relationship, Jo,” David expounded, putting a hand on her shoulder. “He was there buying a gift for his girlfriend and you were there, looking all cute and available, and he jumped on the chance.”

Jojo was silent for a moment, then looked away. “You really think he thought I was cute?”

David let out a laugh. “Not the point, Jo.”

Jojo turned back to him, smile back on her face as she joined in his giggling. “God. I feel so stupid.” She shook her head.

“Hey, hey,” David said, squeezing her shoulder lightly. “Not your fault. Most guys are assholes.” He paused. “Except me, of course. But I don’t think you want to date me.”

Jojo snorted. “That relationship would be a sham.”

The two started laughing again, and David was reminded of just how lucky he was to have Jojo in his life. If nothing else, she reminded him why he gave up dating in the first place.

“So, speaking of cute boys,” Jojo said, wiggling her eyebrows, “who was that stud I just saw you with?”

David raised a single eyebrow. “Stud? What year is this, 1998?”

Jojo stuck her chin up. “Stop deflecting.”

David turned back to his drink, growing increasingly frustrated with the butterflies in his stomach. “Just...some guy.”

Jojo scoffed. “Oh, yeah, sure. You were talking to him for, like, ten minutes.”

David looked at her, alarmed. “So you weren’t late!”

Jojo wagged her finger. “Oh, no, I was late. Just not as late as I had lead you to believe.”

David fought back laughter, trying to grip onto his anger with her. But Jojo was right: he  _ was _ deflecting. 

“He came up to me and shooed off some guy who was flirting with me.” David caught the gleam in her eye and shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s not some knight in shining armor and you know it.”

Jojo grinned. “I don’t. And neither do you! For all you know he’s already fallen head over heels for you.”

David laughed humorlessly. “Please. He was probably just...bored, or something.”

Jojo squinted at him, setting down her drink so she could face him fully. “Why do you find it so hard to believe that anyone could care for you?”

David turned red. He knew the answer, and so did Jojo. Neither of them said it out loud. 

Jojo turned back to the bar, silently acknowledging she had gone too far. After a moment, she broke the tension. 

“Think we can handle some shots?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO NOT WORRY about me, like, romanticizing morris delancey. you’ll see soon enough that’s about the furthest from where I’m going. 
> 
> i know this chapter wasn’t kinda short? but the next one is SUPER long so that will more than make up for it
> 
> hope you all enjoyed!! leave kudos and comments and go rb the post for this on @practicallywritesitself on tumblr!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> david goes into work. jack’s definitely not a stalker on whitepages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter was really short, but this one more than makes up for it in length. i kinda went a little crazy.
> 
> tiny tw for sickness in the context of hangovers. ;)
> 
> enjoy!

As it turns out, they could not handle any shots.

David awoke the next morning with a splitting headache and the overwhelming desire to never get out of bed again. Instead, he popped four Aspirin (fuck the label, he’d been doing as such for years and wasn’t about to stop now) and poured himself an entire cup of black coffee, which, under normal circumstances, would have made him vomit, but today, he was hoping it would have the opposite effect.

He put on some Vivaldi as low as he could on his headphones and sipped his disgusting coffee as he tried to ignore the bumping of the subway car and the clearly sick college student across from him sneezing every twenty seconds as he wended his way down to 23rd Street and surprised his coworkers with his presence after a two week vacation in Aruba had turned into a three day surveillance project on a certain reality television personality.

David walked the familiar path up 8th Ave and across 25th Street until he reached his office building, an old twelve story that had at one point been a part of FIT, but sat abandoned for about a decade until _Mode de Vie_ , David’s employers, had invested and eventually set up shop there. He climbed the four levels up to his floor and ignored the whispers and too-long glances that accompanied him on his journey to his desk.

Romeo, David’s longest and arguably closest colleague, was the first to muster enough courage to confront him. He wheeled out from the other side of their connecting cubicles like a madman, sunglasses still on for whatever reason and downright offensively coral button-up practically lighting up the entire room.

“David!” he exclaimed, far too loud for A) the workplace and B) David’s hungover state. He winced noticeably, but Romeo didn’t seem to catch it. “Back so soon? I thought you were there ‘till the end of September.”

David logged into his email in record time and shrugged as he sank into his swivel chair. “Things change.”

Romeo removed his sunglasses in a single flourish. “Well, that’s not vague at all,” he said sarcastically, slinking back behind the wall of the cubicle.

David ignored this, cleaning out his inbox and opening a new document as he simultaneously pulled up the covert pictures he had taken on his phone for reference.

“Mister Cortez is right, David. You’re not supposed to be in New York for another eleven days.”

David closed his eyes, plastering on his most innocent smile before turning to face his boss and a smug-looking Romeo.

Bryan Denton had been his supervisor for nearly four years, and was one of the biggest reasons why David could afford an apartment in Midtown and the ridiculous MetroCard fees he had to pay every month. Denton was, without a doubt, David’s favorite and most generous employer he had ever had, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a pain in the ass sometimes.

Denton was standing straight as always, arms crossed and just a hint of a smirk on his lips. He didn’t look at all convinced by David’s attempts at being demure, but he did look amused.

“Mister Denton,” David greeted, standing. “The trip went a little...off course.”

“Hm. I can tell.”

“But,” David said, grabbing his phone and shoving it in Denton’s face, “I think it was worth it.”

Denton popped on his cheaters and started scrolling through the pictures. His face shifted from slight disappointment to disbelief, and finally landed on pleased shock.

Glancing over the rims of his glasses, he asked softly, “Is this…”

“Elias Johansson,” David confirmed. “Sarah’s very Swedish fiancé — well, probably ex-fiancé, considering what he was doing with that girl on Palm Beach.”

Denton laughed, shaking his head, before handing the phone back to David. “Welcome back, Jacobs.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the morning was spent chipping away at his article and attempting to ignore the ever-present pounding in his head. He did both rather successfully, if he should say so himself. The words came easy when he wrote about Sarah — though whether that be from the years spent living in the same household or those devoted to cultivating a burning hatred for her, David couldn’t say.

People were often confused when they discovered that David was Sarah’s brother. He wrote biting critiques on her exploits and was always at the front of the paparazzi, peppering her with questions that seemed far too personal to be asking. But the truth was Sarah was hardly David’s sister anymore — no, that bridge had been burned a long time ago.

David rubbed his temples, banishing the ghosts of those memories. Sarah was a celebrity, and David was a tabloid reporter. One of the best in the business. That was all it was, and if someone wanted to resent him for it, well, that wasn’t his problem.

“How’s the article going?”

David physically jumped, pulled far too quickly from his thoughts. He looked to his screen, and just as he’d suspected, he hadn’t written a word in the past five minutes.

David sighed, spinning his chair to face Romeo, who was peeking out over shared wall of their cubicle. David glared at him.

“Woah, woah,” Romeo said, hands up in mock surrender, “don’t look at me like that. Just trying to distract you from staring at your screen for too long. It’s bad for your eyes, you know.”

David held up his middle finger, but he wasn’t sure Romeo saw, as he had popped down from his perch and instead opted to wheel himself around the wall to pester David more effectively. David rolled his eyes and took a swig from his water bottle.

“So, Davey Matthews Band,” Romeo said, a sly grin present upon his lips. “Meet anyone last night?”

David almost choked on his gulp of water. He swallowed hurriedly, and wiped his mouth. “Jesus, Romeo, were you _spying on me_?”

Romeo shrugged, still looking smug. “I may or may not have been at the Refuge last night. Which, in my defense, is way too shitty a bar for me to have imagined you frequent.”

“My friend works nearby,” David found himself defending, then huffed. “Nevermind.” He paused, meeting Romeo’s expectant stare. “Fine,” he admitted, slumping slightly. “If you must know...yeah, okay? I met a guy.”

“Dude!” Romeo shouted, standing up out of his chair. David flinched at his volume. “That’s amazing! He was totally hot. You should go out with him!”

David scowled. “Yeah, right.”

Romeo pushed David, sending him careening into his desk. “C’mon! How long has it been? Like, ten years since you had a boyfriend? Longer since you’ve had a first date?”

David shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t get his number anyway.”

Romeo opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of shouting.

“David Jacobs?” A delivery boy poked his head into the cubicle. David and Romeo turned at the same time, and the delivery boy looked slightly overwhelmed.

“I, uh. Need your signature.” The boy produced a clipboard, on which David scrawled his name, before planting a white paper box on his desk, not unlike a Chinese takeout container.

David raised his eyebrow, glancing at Romeo, who in turn gestured to the box eagerly. David obliged, opening it up with a mix of curiosity and bemusement.

The walkie-talkie crackled to life before David even had a chance to take it out of the box.

“I _hate_ it,” came Jack Kelly’s voice, “when I can’t call the cute guy at the bar because I didn’t get his number before I had to drive my inebriated brother home. So this is me not calling.”

David’s jaw dropped.

A crowd was forming at his desk — in addition to Romeo, several of his coworkers, the new temp Albert, and even Denton were slowly making their way into the space, drawn in by the commotion.

David was silent, trying his best to process what was happening. Romeo slammed down on his foot, and the pain jolted David out of his stupor.

“This is _much_ less invasive,” David quipped, lip between his teeth as he tried to fight off a giddy grin.

The static mixed with Jack’s lilting laugh as David released the button on the side of the walkie-talkie. “Well, since I put in all this effort,” he said, “why don’t you let me take you to dinner Friday night? Over.”

David racked his brain. “Ooh, can’t. I have a couple parties I’ve gotta hit.”

“Guess gossip never sleeps. Saturday? Over.”

Romeo flicked his hands, urging him with his eyes to make himself less available.

“Uh...I have a date.” David grimaced at his unconvincing lie.

“Mister Jacobs, you must know by now I’m persistent. Over.”

David let his smile spread this time. “Okay, Hamlet, how do I get rid of you?”

“Breakfast Sunday. And you can hardly consider that a date — you do that with out of town relatives you don’t even like. Over.”

David glanced around. Romeo was practically jumping up and down. Albert mouthed, “ _Come on!”_. Even Denton looked like he was waiting for him to answer.

David closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Okay, fine. Sunday.”

“You forgot to say over. Over.”

“This conversation is over once you say where and when.”

“Galerie Perrotin at seven A.M.,” Jack answered. “Over and out.”

David gasped. “Seven A.M.? Are you crazy? No, I don’t do seven A.M. —“

“You said Sunday?” the delivery boy cut in. David nodded tentatively, still reeling over the fact that he’d have to be up so early on the weekend.

The courier placed a package on his desk, wrapped in blue paper and tied with a bow, before putting back on his headphones and sauntering out of the office.

David yelled after him, “What would’ve happened if I’d said Friday?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a disaster and realized i’ve been typing my tumblr url wrong this entire time. if you wanna reblog the post for this it’s on @practically-writes-itself on tumblr. 
> 
> comments and kudos are, as always, greatly appreciated. thank you guys for reading!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jack gets a new client.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so so sorry for the wait!! i hope this chapter makes up for it, at least a little!!

Jack hadn’t felt this good since he found out Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again was happening.

He had scored a date with David — which, Jack had to admit, had been no easy feat, and the mere fact that David had been receptive to such an offer seemed an extraordinary victory — and was on his way to the Met, his favorite place in the world, to meet a client, Venti Java Chip Frappuccino in hand.

He climbed the imposing steps, crowded with gawking tourists, out-of-breath park runners, and starving artists hawking their crafts, up to the entrance of the museum. He was early, and he figured he would get in a visit to some of his favorite pieces, maybe have time to grab a bite at the cafe. But something caught his eye.

Sitting on the steps was a girl, around his age. She was extremely pretty — dark auburn hair, pale skin, a killer sense of style. She was sitting gracefully, feet crossed one over the other as she perched on one of the steps. She was eating a hot dog, the kind you get off the carts and never really know exactly where it’s been, while simultaneously reading through a sheaf of paper as thick as Jack’s arm. As he watched, a glop of mustard fell off and directly into her lap. The girl flushed, licked her fingers quickly, and proceeded to use a black business card to scrape the drip off her skirt.

“Katherine Pulitzer?” Jack called. The girl looked up, and, somehow, her cheeks got redder.

“Mister Doctor,” Katherine said. “Or...Doctor Date. What do I call you?”

Jack chuckled as he made his way through the throng and seated himself next to her. She was even more beautiful up close — long eyelashes, deep black eyes, pink lips. He found himself wondering why she needed his help.

Then she smiled, a blob of mustard in her teeth, and Jack realized.

“You can call me Jack,” he replied. “Jack Sullivan.” It was the name he went by with clients, a combination of his birth name and his chosen name. There were a plethora of Jack Sullivan’s in the city, and none of them were Jack Kelly.

“Jack,” Katherine conceded, sticking out her hand. He shook it.

“So, Ms. Pulitzer —“

“Katherine,” she interrupted. “Or Kathy. Or Kate. Or Kitty. I don’t really care, as long as it’s not Pulitzer.”

 _Tragic backstory_ , Jack noted. _Good to know._

“Katherine,” he agreed. “Who gave you my contact?”

Katherine gave a meaningful look to the black card, now smeared with yellow. “I, uh…” She blushed again. “I found it.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it. He often found clients were reluctant to reveal their informants, and that was fine with Jack, so long as the card didn’t get in the wrong hands — namely, the press.

“Okay,” Jack said. Katherine looked relieved. “So who is he?”

Katherine raised an eyebrow. “She,” she corrected.

“Of course. Sorry for assuming.” Now it was Jack’s turn to redden, mentally chiding his shitty gaydar.

Katherine laughed it off, beginning to shuffle through her papers until she reached in and produced a magazine. She handed it to Jack.

The first thing he noticed was that it was distributed by David’s company. The second was the person smiling at him on the cover.

Jack looked back up to Katherine. “Sarah Jacobs,” he said, tone disbelieving.

Katherine crossed her arms. “I thought you were the best in the business.”

“I am,” Jack said. “Just wondering if I’m working with a psychopath.”

Katherine huffed indignantly. “I’m not a psychopath! I know her personally.” She paused. “Sort of.”

Jack gave her a look — _go on._

“Let me start from the beginning,” Katherine said, smoothing her skirt and then folding her hands in her lap. “I work for an accounting firm,” she explained. “Pretty big one, we have some important clients. Sarah included. I’m low on the totem pole — hardly even allowed to sit in on meetings. But one day my boss called me in, said we needed all hands on deck. He leads me to the meeting room, I walk inside, and there she is, sitting at the head of the table in all her glory. I actually froze in the doorway. She’d been looking through some documents, but I mus have squeaked or something, because she looked up and met my eyes and —“ Katherine sighed, eyes glossy as they stared out in the distance. “She smiled, perfect teeth showing and eyebrows raised, and I’ve been in love with her ever since.”

She looked back to Jack. “I know it’s crazy. I know it’s probably not possible. But I got your number and I’m kind of desperate here and I need to know you can help me. Please say you’ll help me, Mister Sullivan.”

Jack grabbed his drink, took a long sip, and thought about it. He’d had tough jobs in the past. Hell, he’d set up celebrities before. But never with someone below their own stature. But wasn’t his favorite part of the job breaking rules? Making new standards? Doing the impossible? Katherine was looking at him so hopefully. If he said no, he knew she’d move on. But how long would that take? And would he ever forgive himself for not taking on the challenge?

He sighed. “Jack,” he corrected. “And yes, Katherine, I can help you.”

She grinned, face shining, and Jack knew he’d made the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so you guys know im basing katherine off of choi su jin, who played katherine in the korean production of newsies:))
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed!! leave comments + kudos if you want!! (they fuel me)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jack and david go on their first date. everyhting’s perfect, until it’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapt is rlly long im sorry

Jack didn’t think he’d ever been so excited for a first date.

Normally, Jack wasn’t picky about his dates. He would grab some McDonald’s, put on a sappy movie, and see where the night would go. He spent enough time laboring over plans for his clients that he deserved a little break from micromanaging. But something about David made him rethink his usual Netflix and Chill mentality — and not just because it had gone out of style around 2016.

No, Jack had put more effort into this date than he had ever done for himself before. The day would be filled with fine artwork, Pastrami on Rye, and a little dip into personal history.

He met David at the Galerie Perrotin as planned. His heart kicked violently against his ribs as he watched David turn the corner, a ray of sun tracking him as he met Jack’s eyes from across the street and smiled just as brightly. He looked both ways before he crossed, and for some reason, that made Jack’s heart jump again. David reached him, and Jack shook his head. No time for sentimentality now; there were places to go and things to do.

Jack bit his lip to keep from laughing as he surveyed David’s attire. He was looking far too formal: dress shirt tucked into khaki pants and shoes nicer than any Jack owned. _At least he had the decency to roll up the sleeves and pop the top couple of buttons_ , Jack thought appreciatively.

David crossed his arms, but couldn’t suppress his grin enough to look threatening. “What?”

“I feel underdressed,” Jack admitted, a teasing smile present on his own face as he looked down at his own graphic tee and jeans. “Did you like the gift I sent?”

David reached down and hiked up his pant legs enough that Jack could make out a pair of Frida Kahlo socks adorning his ankles. “Does that answer your question?”

Jack’s grin widened. “Yes. Yes it does.”

David turned and took in the building. It was one of Jack’s favorite spots in the city. It didn’t look like a museum; hell, it didn’t even look like it was still open. The facade seemed straight out of the last century, with block text like the kind you find on the side of an old factory. It reminded Jack why he loved New York so much: even the most nondescript exteriors could hold great beauty inside.

Jack felt David’s hand grasping his arm, which shocked him out of his reminiscence. He was a bit surprised; David hadn’t struck him as a tactile sort of person. But David was pulling him towards the building fiercely, asking rhetorically, “Are we going in or what?”

They spent the next hour and a half perusing the gallery. Jack was an artist at heart, and had an especially deep appreciation for modern art. He knew most of the works’ histories, so whenever David had a puzzled look on his face, Jack would step in and do his best to explain.

“I don’t get it,” David said finally, after staring at a piece for more than five minutes. He gestured around the room. “I don’t get any of it.”

Jack chuckled to himself. “Yeah, I know. It’s hard. But that’s what’s so great about art. It doesn’t have to mean anything unless you want it to.”

He waved towards the painting in front of them. “Take this one. _Two Green Lovers_ , Johan Creten. On the surface it’s not much. A couple of pieces of glass on top of stoneware. But if you know even a little about that field of art, you know precision is the key aspect. Perfect marble, no cracks or bubbles. But look at that background. It breaks all the rules. The glaze isn’t applied properly, the marble’s warped. And the glass looks like he just glued a broken beer bottle to the ceramic. But that’s what makes the piece so compelling. It’s not symmetric, it’s not flat, it’s not pretty. But it draws you in and makes you want to understand it. And I think that’s why it’s called what it is. Love’s the same way — no matter how hard you try to understand it, it’s gonna get more complicated the more you look at it. But you keep digging and you keep searching and at some point you realize that’s the best thing about it — it’s impossible to understand and it doesn’t mean the same thing to any two people. And that’s why it’s beautiful — not because it’s simple, but because it’s not.”

He turned, and realized with a jolt that David was staring at him, not the painting. And he was smiling, a soft smile that just touched the corners of his eyes, making them bright and bluer than a cloudless sky.

Jack blushed. “C’mon. I have more than a lecture on art history planned.”

 

* * *

 

They lunched at Katz’s, dining on sandwiches that David described as “orgasmic”. The atmosphere was great, and David seemed truly at home  

“My great grandfather worked the counter here,” David explained through bites of coleslaw. “It’s how he met my great grandmother. She would come in every day to pick up the day’s groceries, or so she claimed. My great grandfather always said it was because he was just too handsome to resist.”

Jack laughed. He set down his sandwich. “Your family’s been here a while, then.”

David nodded. He had a piece of pastrami hanging out of his mouth, and Jack’s heart did that swooping thing again. _Pull yourself together. There’s work to be done._

“I’m fifth generation,” David was saying, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “My family came over from Poland in the 1870s. It was tough — it’s always tough for immigrants, but especially for Jewish immigrants back then. Most of my ancestors worked in factories, but back in the eighties my grandfather opened a little flower shop down on Broome. It let us scrape by, and my family could finally afford to send me and —“ He cut himself off quickly. “They could afford to send me to college.”

Jack didn’t ask what David had started to say. He didn’t want to pry, and besides, he was too caught up in how great of a job he had done planning the day.

Jack dropped his napkin on his cleared plate and stood, offering a hand to David. “I have one more surprise planned.”

They strolled down Orchard Street, pausing once or twice to window shop. Finally, they stopped in front of a tall brownstone with fire escapes up and down the exterior.

Jack turned and took in David’s furrowed brows. “The Tenement Museum?”

Jack shrugged. “I did my research.”

They met a burly man at the entrance, who took them around to the exhibits and explained some of the history. David took it all in quietly, occasionally running his hands reverently over a banister or reading a sign with uninhibited focus. Jack wasn’t paying much attention to what the man was saying; he was too busy patting himself on the back for a job well done.

After a while of touring the exhibit, the man led them up a staircase that was closed off for most visitors. David gave Jack a look as he followed their guide, silently questioning how Jack had gotten them such an exclusive tour.

Jack just shrugged, grinning smugly.

The top of the staircase opened up to another hall. The door to their right was propped open slightly, and the guide lead them into the apartment. Unlike the others they had been in, this was not refurbished. It was old and dank, with peeling paper that barely stayed on the walls in the first place. The floors were bare, with no furniture or rugs to fill the space.

The man gestured for them to take a look around. Jack stayed stationed at the door, hands clasped behind his back, while David strolled around, looking slightly confused. He eventually made his way back to the door, and his eyes caught on the plaque hanging next to the frame. Jack watched as David’s expression turned from perplexity to disbelief to shock.

Jack beamed. “97 Orchard Street, Tenement 4b, owned by Asher Jacobs circa 1899.”

David shook his head as he brought a hand to cover his mouth. His eyes filled with tears. Jack’s heart soared; he had _nailed it_.

Then David wailed loudly, sending a panicked jolt down Jack’s spine. David ran out of the room and down the stairs.

Jack and the guide exchanged a startled look. Jack took off after David.

He burst through the street level doors, searching wildly for David. He found him, head in hands, sitting on the curb as cars whizzed last him.

Jack let out a sigh of relief, then picked his way over to David. He sat down cautiously next to him.

David sniffed and wiped his eyes when he noticed Jack’s presence. “Sorry,” he said, voice thick. “I just — not that you could have known but —“ David took a steadying breath, then turned to meet Jack’s eyes. “Asher Jacobs murdered my great-great grandmother.”

Jack’s eyes widened. He tried to choke out an apology, but David cut him off with a wet laugh.

“No, no. It’s fine. He’s just, like, the black spot on our family’s history. He was abusive his whole life, to his kids and everything. One night it went to far, and she ended up dead. It’s something we’ve tried hard to forget.”

Jack shut averted his eyes, biting his lip. He’d had no idea. He had just gone through the list of tenement alumni and noticed the name. He didn’t expect for there to be such a dark story behind that.

David wiped his eyes again, breathing deeply. He turned back to Jack and tapped his chin a couple of times until Jack met his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” David said sincerely. He smiled delicately. “I had fun anyways.”

Then he leaned over and kissed Jack’s cheek.

Maybe Jack hadn’t fucked up so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! if you like, leave kudos and a comment, and reblog the chapter post on @practically-writes-itself on tumblr!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> david and jojo play catch-up.

David sat at a tiny table across from Jojo digging into his double chocolate frozen yogurt with the enthusiasm of a malnourished child. 

“—and he was so into it, Jojo, he went into this spiel about how art only means something when you want it to, and how love is the same way, and — I’m sorry, am I rambling?”

Jojo had been staring into her strawberry no-cal with the same look one might give a sick animal. She glanced up, glassy-eyed, when David cut himself off, and attempted to smile. It came out pained and forced. 

“Nah, it’s nice to hear you happy about a boy,” she admitted, sounding genuine. She looked away. “Just wish I could say the same about myself.”

David reached over and patted her hand. “You’ll find someone, Jo.”

“Will I?” She sighed. “The only guys who’re ever into me are either already involved with someone or certifiably insane. Or both.”

David laughed. “You just haven’t found him yet.”

She dug into her froyo angrily. “You said that last time. And the time before that. And every other time.”

David shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an optimist.”

Jojo smiled closed-lipped. She shook out her shoulders and filled her spoon. “Enough about my shitty love life. Tell me more about your amazing one.”

David rolled his eyes fondly. “It...wasn’t all amazing.”

He explained the last section of his and Jack’s date, and the fiasco that occurred. Jojo frowned sympathetically as he finished his story.  

“It just — just reminded me of Sarah. About everything that happened.” It was the first time he’d mentioned her out loud to Jojo in years. Sure, he’d broken down crying at Jojo’s apartment before, or she’d walked in on him smashing plates. But they never addressed it directly. 

Maybe that was part of the problem. David didn’t plan on analyzing it any time soon. 

Jojo nodded. “I know.”

And that’s what he loved about Jojo. She always knew when to step back and let David wallow in his own self-misery. After all this time, David still hadn’t gotten over everything that Sarah had done. He tried his best to push it out of his mind for a while, but because that hadn’t worked in the slightest, he’d ended up basing his entire career around her. He supposed that was possibly the most quintessential irony he’d ever stumbled upon. 

Jojo laid a hand over his, noticing he was dissociating. “Hey,” she said softly, bringing him back down to earth. David shook his head and forced a smile. Jojo tipped her finger down into his dessert and stuck it into her mouth smugly. 

David sighed. “At least we have chocolate.”

“I’ll eat to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry my posting schedule has gone to shit. this was a really short chapter but the next one will be out THURSDAY and then another saturday to make up!!!
> 
> leave kudos, comments, and rb’s on the post on @practically-writes-itself on tumblr. i live off of that :’)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> katherine makes a poor decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW OKAY! I SUCK!
> 
> sorry i haven’t updated in, like, two months. it’s been absolutely crazy, between health issues and school and shit. i really apologize for it. 
> 
> unfortunately, it’ll probably be this way for a while — very unpredictable posting. there’s just a lot going on right now. 
> 
> but i love you guys!! hope you enjoy this chapter!!

“Just remember: shock and awe.”

Jack was seated at Katherine’s desk, twirling a pen engraved with her name between his fingers. She was pacing in front of him, wringing her hands and breathing far too fast as she prepared herself for her next meeting with Sarah. 

“Shock and awe,” she repeated, clearly not registering the words. She turned to Jack, expression wary. “What does that even mean?”

“You’ll know when the opportunity arises.”

“Well, that’s not vague at all.”

Katherine’s phone alarm beeped, and she pulled it out of her back pocket with the expression of someone going to the electric chair. She looked back up, meeting Jack’s eyes. 

“You’ll be fine, Kath,” he said. “Just follow the script. And if you need any reminding —“ He tapped his ear, a gesture towards the Bluetooth communication piece they were sharing. “— I’ll be right there with you.”

Katherine took a deep breath, and then walked out the door. 

Her first comment came within seconds. “ _ I think I’m dying.” _

Jack breathed out a short laugh. “You’re not dying.”

“ _ I think I know when my own body is collapsing under the weight of my own mortality. I’m dying, Jack.” _

But he could tell she was still walking towards the conference room, and allowed himself a small sigh of relief when he heard the door click open and then shut. Next came the sounds of a rolling chair and the shuffling of paper. 

Finally, a sharp intake of breath as Sarah Jacobs walked into the room. 

“Breathe Katherine.”

“ _ I’m breathing,” _ she hissed. 

The beginning of the meeting was slow. Katherine followed the orders Jack occasionally gave — “make eye contact” or “give a reassuring smile” — with an uncharacteristic lack of protest. 

Jack was actually patting himself on the back for a job well done when everything fell apart. 

The meeting was wrapping up. He could hear the telltale shuffles of restless accountants desperate to get back to whatever miserable work they had left at their desks and Katherine’s feet tapping the legs of her chair. Then Sarah cleared her throat. 

“ _ I have one more...matter to bring up _ .” Katherine’s breath hitched the way it had every time Sarah had spoken. 

“ _ Of course, Ms. Jacobs,”  _ Katherine’s boss, Mr. Snyder, said over the hum of sighs and disapproval. 

“ _ I have a friend who’s looking for investors for her fashion line. He showed me the plans — they check out. He’s really got it figured out.”  _ A pause. “ _ I’d like to invest ten thousand.” _

A murmur broke out, punctuated by a few  _ “you can’t be serious” _ es and a couple “ _ you’re out of your depth, Ms. Jacobs” _ es. Snyder cut through it all with a harsh laugh. 

_ “Ms. Jacobs, I’m sorry, but that just doesn’t seem like the wisest financial decision,”  _ he said.  _ “Perhaps we can start smaller — how about a thousand or two into the stock market?” _

Sarah didn’t answer for a moment. Then a meek, “ _ I suppose you’re right,”  _ came through the headset. 

The buzz came back through, this time calmer and softer now that the team could get back to doing real work. 

But Katherine’s voice carried over it all. 

“ _ No.” _

Jack nearly fell out of his chair. 

“ _ I beg your pardon, Miss Pulitzer?” _

_ “It’s Plumber. And I said no.” _

Jack heard her suck in a deep breath. “ _ We’re your  _ advisors,  _ Miss Jacobs. We have no right to make decisions for you. If you want to invest ten thousand dollars into your best friend’s start up, then by all means, go ahead. Don’t let a bunch of old men tell you what to do — they’ve been doing that for far too long already.” _

_ “Miss Pulitzer! _ ” Snyder shouted.

“ _ I’m not finished!”  _ Katherine yelled back. “ _ None of you know  _ anything  _ about the pressure Miss Jacobs is under. I challenge you, I  _ dare  _ you to handle that stress with half the grace Miss Jacobs displays.” _

_ “Miss Pulitzer, I’m afraid you —“ _

_ “No, you know what? I quit!” _

And right on cue, the transmitter went dead.

A minute later, Katherine slipped into the office and threw her weight onto the door, eyes squeezed tight.

Jack stood quickly, arms crossed. “What in the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t know!” Katherine spread her hands in front of her, breathing ireegualry. “I don’t know. It seemed right in the moment.”

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a knock on the door. 

“Under the desk,” Katherine hissed, opening the door a crack before Jack had time to object. 

Jack slid down, finding a crack between the desk legs he could see through. A wave of embarrassment hit him: he felt like a goddamned child. 

“Mr. Snyder, I can — oh!”

Standing at the door was Sarah Jacobs. Jack couldn’t see her facial expression from this vantage point, but he could tell she was rubbing her hands nervously. 

“Hi — Pulitzer, right?” she asked. 

“Plumber, actually,” came Katherine’s response. “But it’s Katherine to you, Ms. Jacobs.”

“Then it’s Sarah to you. Katherine.” Sarah pronounced the name carefully. 

“What can I do for you, Ms — Sarah?”

Jack saw Sarah look over her shoulder, then turn back to Katherine. “That was — very kind of you, Katherine. Standing up for me, I mean.” She paused. “That’s never happened before.”

“I was just doing my job,” Katherine assured. 

“No, no. It’s important. People assume I can handle myself, but...well, sometimes I need a little help.” Sarah shifted. “So, I was wondering...would you come with me to Benny’s premiere fashion show?”

Katherine froze. Jack, subtle as he was, banged his fist against the desk. 

Sarah jumped slightly, and tried to look over Katherine’s shoulder into the office. Katherine moved further over, blocking her view.

“Of — of course!” she said. 

Jack could hear the smile in Sarah’s voice. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six Friday night? Here, I’ll give you my number. Text me your address when you get a chance.” As if Katherine would wait more than five minutes before sending an eight-paragraph confession of love. Jack would have to handle that. 

Sarah dug through her purse and pulled out a business card. “Shit, do you have a pen? I wanna write my cell on the back.”

Jack threw the engraved pen he’d been fiddling with across the room. 

Katherine quickly scooped it up and passed it to Sarah. After a moment, they said a quick goodbye and Katherine shut the door.

“Worth losing your job?” Jack asked. 

“Hell yes.”


End file.
